She Never Changed
by Tahlia Mckinnon
Summary: set post third series, what if - despite choosing him - effy couldn't change for freddie?
1. Chapter 1

**Having slight writer's block with 'Letters to Freddie', so here are a few short chapters, set after the third series, to keep you entertained. I think, at the beginning of series four, Effy adjusts to love a little too quickly - before she goes insane, that is. If you've read the SKINS novel, you'll know that Effy goes away - _runs away - _to holiday with Anthea. This is set before her departure, but quite a bit after the boat scene at the end of series three. This is what I think could have happened if Effy couldn't change her old ways. Reviews would help me out, alot (: Enjoy!**

* * *

Jim Morrison once said that -

_Drugs are a bet with your mind. _

**In that case, I'm in severe debt.**

But Acid, LSD, Tabs, Trips, Blotters, Microdots  
- or whatever your sordid clan of scummy acquaintances call them -  
are a pure delight.  
They propel me into a state of utter elevation.  
I don't have to try.  
I don't have to wear this stagnant façade of cliché rebellion.  
I don't have to be _Effy. _

**I can just spin in wavering circles and let the delicious nausea wash over me.**

Of course, like anything, the pleasure is ephemeral.  
I often wake up lying next to the naked evidence of a 'good' night which I can't remember.  
With his provocatively inked skin, chiselled jaw and vomit breath.  
_James Cook.  
_The crude, rude and downright oblivious-to-anybody-else's-feelings nymphomaniac, _or so he says_.  
Sandwiched between my sheets.

For the last time, I promise myself furiously. Trouble is, it's _always _the 'last time' with Cook.

No matter that he's hooked up with bustiest, blondest, molly-dolly of Bristol, and that I keep swearing I'll stop shagging around and settle down, someway or another Cook and I always end up thrust together in a night of unashamed, undeniably amazing sex.

Even if we hate each other.

But that's all it is, all it will ever be.  
Just sex.  
And that never hurts anybody.

**Right?**

I hear him stir, and turn to watch him rub his at his erubescent eyes, groaning in his groggy state. He spies me staring, and his deceivingly angelic face splits into a smug grin.  
"What?"  
"You are fucking beautiful, Effy Stonem."  
His eyes scan over me then, and I almost feel them burning through my skin as I slip into one of Tony's old shirts.  
"Cor, what happened last night?" he asks, propping himself up against the pillows.  
"It doesn't take a genius to piece it together, Cook" I murmur, stepping into a thong that lays abandoned on the floor. "I'm sure even _you_ could draw up the conclusion."  
He laughs then, a deep fruity guffaw.  
"I detect the sarcasm, and receive the message. I'll be out of your hair soon enough, grumpy draws." He wriggles out of bed, and slaps me slyly on the arse, before heading to the shower - only a sock draped over his impressive 'morning glory'.

**I thank the (perhaps existent) God that my Mother isn't home.**

"So, dinky, what's your plan of action for the day?" Cook queries, slipping into his sweat stained garments from the night before.  
I quickly observe the dip in his back, his sculptured shoulder blades, his soft approachable skin…"  
"Pandora knows an arsonist. He's taking us to a 'private show' this afternoon." I fold my arms.  
He looks at me, smiling in approval. "Sounds promising."  
"Yeah. Well, there's a fuckload of negotiable vodka involved. The guy's a complete moron, apparently. So his little neekish followers shouldn't expect more than blowjobs."  
I see something flash across his dazzling eyes. A look I don't quite recognise.  
It doesn't suit his face.  
But before I can decipher, he replaces it with his usual manic energy.  
"Easy night, then."  
"Fingers crossed," I shrug.  
He sighs, and wipes his hands on his jeans.  
I soften. "You can come if you want."  
His ears prick up. "I can?"  
"Sure, why not. It's not as if you're busy."  
He bites his bottom lip. "I'm actually supposed to be seeing Tina tonight…"  
"Oh, well you can't object to her diva demands, I guess."  
He smiles at me. Sadly. It makes me feel uncomfortable. I clear my throat.  
Cook shakes his head. "She's probably got some pedicure appointment, anyway."  
We look at each other for a moment, then burst into a fit of immature giggles.  
"Or a perm," I snigger.  
"Yeah. Or a perm." The laughter stops. "Will Freddie be there?"  
I shake my head vigorously. "I know he's under the thumb, but I wouldn't exactly make him stand and watch me dish out BJ's for spliff, would I? Use your brain, Cook. What's left of it."  
"Trouble in Paradise?" he retorts, knowingly.  
"There's never a fucking Paradise when you're around."  
"That's cause you can't resist me," he smirks.  
"No, it's cause you're always in the way."  
If he's hurt by my remark, he disguises it well.  
Instead he saunters towards me, almost hesitantly. I flinch as he plants a kiss on the tip of my nose.  
"You've got to give in, Effy."  
"I don't know what the fuck you're talking about."  
Cook shrugs one shoulder, ruffles my hair, and makes his way down the stairs.

As I hear the door close, I fall gently to my knees.

I fall, and I cry.

I cry for Freddie.

I cry, because I've fucked everything up.

**I always do.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Really appreciate everybody's reviews so far, not sure whether to carry this story on...  
So more reviews would help me out ;)  
Letters to Freddie will be continued this summer, this is just a quick fix while you're waiting.  
Enjoy!**

**

* * *

**

"You look how I feel."  
I watch Anthea stagger into the house, tripping over the doorstep.  
Her dangerous panda eyes are delicately bloodshot. She fills the kitchen with the stench of stale tobacco, and one-too-many pints of bitter.  
She slumps herself at the table.  
"Whas' the time?"  
"Half four."  
"Throw some eggs on," she practically gags. "Need something to keep it down."  
I obey her command, cracking two into a pan.  
"None for you, love?"  
"No Mum," I reply, raising an eyebrow. "I'm heading out with Pandora soon."  
"You're losing weight." She gestures toward my gradually disintegrating frame.  
I'm in no emotional state to eat. Food is the last thing on my mind.  
"The hunger pains are comforting," I retort, and that's the truth. Every pang and ache draws away from the guilt bubbling in the pit of my stomach, or the resonating torturous grip he has on my heart.

_You've got to give in, Effy._  
**I can't. I can't. I can't.**

"Freak," Mum sniggers.  
I bare my teeth at her, laughing along.  
"So, where are the boy's today, Eff? Scared them off have you?" she jokes, wiping her nose with her palm.  
I freeze, egg in hand, back facing her, eyes stinging. "No. I'm seeing Freddie later."

**And I hope I do.**

He needs to see me, on my knees, wanking off some other desperate boy.  
He needs to see me, on my back, letting his best friend grope me.  
That's the only way he'll learn.

_Effy _never changes. _Effy _won't change for anybody. You can never have control over _Effy._  
I'm too terrified to stand for that.

"Such a nice boy," Anthea mumbles drowsily, her eyelids closing. "Very handsome. Nice lips. Nice cheekbones, y'know?"  
"Yes," I retort curtly. "Nice."

That's all Freddie is. _Nice_.  
And nice boys crack. Just like eggs into a pan.  
**Nice boys crack when they try to take control.**

"He's a keeper, Effy. Not like that other one, the foul mouthed one. Though I can see why you like him, he's exactly your type."  
Flames rise in my cheeks as I whip around to face her. "I don't have a _type_, Mum."  
"Well, sure you do love," she continues, ignoring my defensive tone. "You're two of the same, you and that James Cook. Two of the same…"  
She falls asleep then, head sinking onto her arms.

**I storm from the house.**

"_Hi, this is Panda Poo - leave a rooting-tooting massage after the beepin' …"_  
"Pandora, where am I meeting you and the Burnout?"  
I snap my phone shut, impatiently.  
I perch at the bus stop, watching the buses come and go.  
The flurry of people, the flurry of colours, the flurry of lives.  
**I want his fingertips. I want his devoted eyes.**

"_Hi, this is Panda Poo - leave a rooting-tooting massage after the beepin' …"_  
"Pandora, answer your fucking phone, would you?"  
I pull my skirt down, watching an old woman struggle to get onto the H98.  
It's nearing six o'clock now. Laces of orange cloud spider across the clear sky, as the November sun begins to set.

"_Hi, this is Panda Poo - leave a rooting-tooting massage after the beepin' …"_  
"Jesus fucking Christ, Pandora. Do you _want _me to come over and inform your darling Mother of your unfortunate flailing off the rails?"  
My phone vibrates against my leg almost instantly.  
I flip it open with a sigh.  
"Pandora, where the fuck are you?"  
"_Effy?"_  
My heart literally strangles itself. I swallow the apple of panic rising in my throat.  
His voice intoxicates me, more than any other illegal substance ever could.  
"_Effy? Where are you?"_  
"Freddie?"  
"_We're supposed to go out tonight? You're not at home."_  
"Freddie. Fuck off."

_You've got to give in, Effy._  
**I can't. I can't. I can't.**  
He has to learn.  
I blink back my tears, and call Cook.

"Hope I didn't keep you waiting, Eff." Pandora squirms as she approaches the bus stop, hand in hand with her latest toy, a gangly boy with eyes too big for his gaunt face.  
"Only three hours," I reply curtly, forcing a smile.  
"Oh wizzar', you brought Cookie," she beams at him, desperately changing the subject.  
"Busy, were we?" Cook laughs, gesturing towards the intimate clasp. Pandora drops the kid's hand like he's literally on fire. She mumbles something about 'surfing and turfing', and introduces us all.  
"Jed," he grunts moronically.  
We follow him as he mopes off in the direction of the upcoming 'impressive' display of angst-ridden destruction.

Banter is scarce, with Jed making jokes about drugging unsuspecting female participants with rehipnol as Cook discusses fuck worthy tottie. Pandora quizzes the sincerity of the conversation. At this, Jed slips his hand under the back her polka dot skirt and whispers into her ear.  
Cook falls behind to keep in time with my dainty, disinterested paces.  
He doesn't question my silence, but instead offers me his jacket.**  
I refuse.**

When we approach neek central, it's just as I had imagined.  
A mob of social outcasts and try-hards with scene style sweep fringes and laughably pretentious attire, surrounding an impressive campfire and clutching large display fireworks.  
"Ladies," Jed calls to the lads, "The cavalry has arrived."  
His public school accent is starting to irritate me, and I wonder aloud where Pandora picked this prick up.  
**Cook practically pisses himself.**

As midnight descends, the leather coats and studded collars have been abandoned in a pile beside me, as everyone thrashes around to the predictably lame Dubstep collection blasting from the portable beat box. I watch them all, cans in hand, swaying and grinding to the pulsating rhythm,  
I watch them from the closest park bench, eager to hear police sirens and watch the shit hit the fan.  
Cook staggers out of the crowd and sits beside me, pressing a bottle of brandy into my hand.  
"Drink up sweet cheeks."  
I clasp the bottle. No. I need to feel everything tonight.  
It can't be hazy. I have to remember every specific detail.  
Every nuance in his heartbroken face.  
I know he'll come. I know he'll find me.**  
And I need to see it. I need to see and feel the damage to his soul.**

So, I bring the bottle to the ground with as much force as I can, smashing it into fragments as it collides with the concrete path.  
"Whoa." Cook jumps from his seat, raising his eyebrows at me. "Peachy, whats' the beef?"  
I take him by his elbow, and gesture towards the crowd. "Let's dance."  
His face splits into a grin, as he follows my lead, pushing into the centre of the gyrating goons. Almost instantly they depart, and watch our bodies morph together. I throw my head back as Cook's mouth makes it's way down my neck. He drops his hands, and runs them over my chest, and down to the bottom of my stomach - all the time moving to the heavy kick drum.I feel their eyes boring into us, feel their cocks stiffening under their skater style jeans, but I don't give it a second thought. I just concentrate on the touch of the adoring boy that holds me.  
I feel it in his fingers, how much he needs me. And with every gentle kiss I hear the love that terrifies him.

**_You're two of the same, you and that James Cook. _**

The moment hypnotizes me, at the centre of everybody's attention.  
It feeds me.  
I open my eyes as Cook's mouth meets mine, drunkenly suffocating me.  
I run my fingers through his coarse hair, and bite his bottom lip.  
We grin.  
My eyes flitter to a gap in the crowd.

And there he is.  
Skin like caramel velvet.  
Eyes adorned with tears of sickened vengeance.

**Freddie.**  
**My Freddie.**

**Damaged.**  
**Destroyed.**  
**Broken.**


	3. Chapter 3

**Okay, so after debating where to take the story next, I felt like introducing a little taste of Frookie ;) I may not continue with the original plot I first intended, (post third series, before what happens in the SKINS novel) - I feel like experimenting a little more with the threesome, and the relationships between Cook, Effy and Freddie. Reviews are always sexy, and I'd appreciate feedback and request galore for where to continue this journey. Ta (: x  


* * *

**

**There should have been an explosion.**  
Freddie erupting with abominable attitude, fists thrust into faces, faces fighting fears.

**There should have been bloodstains and raised bruises.**  
Cook cracking into peals of provocative laughter, slamming punches into the pit of his best friend's stomach.

**There should have been.**  
But I should have known better.  
I should have expected the unexpected.  
Freddie was as unpredictable as Cook; Cook was as unpredictable as _Effy. _  
**Really, I shouldn't have expected anything at all**.

But I had. And in all the lists of possibilities, I hadn't been prepared for what came next.

The crowd stares us out, as we stare at Freddie.  
Parting, waiting, watching.  
Hungry for the fire of the fight.

Somebody kicks the beat box and the music dies.  
The silence fills my ears, Freddie's tears fill his eyes, and Cook's remorse fills his face.  
Freddie approaches. Not with his trademark tentative steps, but with powerful, confident strides.

**He's _supposed_ to look into me, so I can see the agony course through him, drain his mocha face of all it's colour. He's _supposed _to ignore Cook, look through Cook, only kick and scream and spite him.**

But instead, Freddie tears his quick gaze from my face, and hones in on Cook instead, screwing his eyes up as watery trails descend down his cheeks. Wordlessly, he grabs fistfuls of Cook's collar, pulling him closer so their noses touch. Cook doesn't prevent it, nor does he meet Freddie's eyes. He stares at the ground, as I stare at them.

And with all the force Freddie can muster, he pushes his lips into Cook's, holding his face tightly between his palms to prevent his escape. Not that he needs too. Because Cook obeys the command, even parting his mouth a fraction to let Freddie's tongue explore him.

**And it sickens me. And my head feels too heavy for my neck. And my feet have stopped supporting me.**

And as I lay there on the dew encrusted soil, I feel the saturating earth swallow my pride.  
Swallow my expectations.  
Swallow me whole.

Freddie pushes Cook's face away with a force more precise, and more terrifying than a direct hit. Cook stands motionless, aware of the many pairs of eyes widening at his actions, unaware of the consequences those will bring.

Freddie stands over me, chest struggling to contain his sobs.  
**His strained voice fills the air, fills my ears, fills my eyes.**  
"Do you like it? Hmm?"  
**I don't reply, I don't have to.**  
**I don't know how to.**  
"Doesn't it feel fucking marvelous, Effy?"  
He snorts at me with disgust.  
"Look at you," he snarls. "You were gagging for it, weren't you? Just fucking gagging for it."  
I feel my body tremble and sweat in places I never thought it could. Freddie's eyes are unrecognisable, his tone horrifyingly sharp and searching.  
**All traces of the _Nice Boy _replaced with wolf-like angst. **

"Freds," Cook practically whimpers. "Let's leave this, yeah?"  
But Freddie doesn't move, just stays fixed before me, fixated with me.  
"Gagging for the rush, gagging for the heat," he continues. "And do you like it, Effy? Feels good does it?"  
"Freds," Cook repeats, placing a hand on the small of Freddie's back.  
"Don't fucking touch me," Freddie screeches, whipping Cook's arm away, stare still locked on me. "You love it, don't you Effy. Feeling fucked, and fucked over. Feeling fucked and fuck…"  
But his throat closes in on him, and the sentence is left to lose itself into the intensity of the atmosphere.  
"I hope you hate me," Freddie whispers. "I hope you hate me for what you've done."

And he stalks away, Cook in tow.  
**Leaving me surrounded by the viscous reality of my isolation.**


	4. Chapter 4

**Wanted to explore more of Effy's mind, the way she percieves people and situations, relating them to things or objects that the ordinary mind wouldn't. I wanted to start showing the cracks in her sanity in this chapter, and how Freddie is holding her heart captive. Interprate Freddie's hold over Cook any way you wish - romantic, sexual, bromance or simply unbreakable overwhelming friendship. I've written it in such a way that it's left to your imagination ;) Hope you enjoy, reviews have been very helpful so far, and I've loved hearing the feedback, keep it coming (: x

* * *

**

"Eff?"  
"Not now, Panda."  
"Effy, wait…"

I stop my anxious stalk, and snap around to face her.

"Maybe it's bet'r if you don't follow 'em."  
"Yeah?" I reply, with all the ice my cracking voice can muster. "Well, maybe it'll be even better if you mind your own fucking business." I continue my trail, step size increasing agitatedly.  
"You chose Freds," Pandora confidently states, calling after me.  
My heels burn into the pavement as they come to an abrupt halt.  
"And you chose Thomas," I retort, over my shoulder, eyes slit into narrowed frosted beams.  
"That's dif'rent," she shrugs.  
"Different how? You're fucking someone else," I spit, announcing every separate syllable to drill the concept into her dry, airy-fairy traitor brain.  
"Because I want too Eff," she blinks. "Not just 'cause I can."  
"Oh, so Love Balls don't fix everything then? Love Balls don't make things hanky fucking panky?" I patronise, throwing up my gnarled hands in mock exasperation. "Well, you could have fooled me Pandora. Bet you've fooled Thomas too."  
**"You're not the only one allowed to hurt and be hurt, Effy," she bites, shiny-eyed.**

* * *

"Why not thump me and be done with it?" Cook croaks, perched on the floor of the shed.  
I press my ear and spying eye to the crack in the door.  
"Same reason _you _kissed me, after all the Karen shit hit the wind," Freddie breathes, pacing the room, spliff between his delicately structured fingers. "Because love hurts more than hate, doesn't it. We all know that. Fucking Effy's an expert."

His bitter uttering of my name sends electrical pulses to the bottom of my soul.  
**That's if I have one. Recently, I'm starting to doubt it.**

"I'm sorry Freds," Cook exhales with pleading eyes.  
"It's alright, no need to aplogise Cook. I know now, I know."  
"Know what?"  
"You're the same person, you and Eff." Freddie points the spliff at him thoughtfully. "Same thoughts, same values, same reactions, same feelings…"  
"Oh yeah?" Cook smirks, jumping to his feet and snatching the joint. "And what's the diagnosis, Doctor Mcclair?"  
Freddie has his back to him now, torso facing the doorway. Even with his shoulders hunched, he stands statuesque, stands strong, like he's finally starting to accept control.

_But nice boys crack when they try to take control.  
Just like eggs into a pan, pan, pan.  
Freddie's the egg, Cook's the pan, and I'm the hand that smashes them in two, to be two, to be together.  
But Freddie wants to switch places.  
He wants to be the pan, Effy the egg, Cook the hand.  
Freddie wants Cook to drive me too him, not drive me away. _

**"You both love me more," he whispers.**_  
HAND._  
"Nah, Freds…" Cook retreats, eyes ablaze with a mixture of shock and appal._  
EGG._  
"And neither of you know how to deal with it," Freddie continues, boring into him, forcing Cook back against the wall. "Which is why you use each other like pawns. Trying to unnerve me. Unnerve each other."_  
PAN._  
"Shut the fuck up Freddie," Cook growls, baring his small uneven teeth. "You don't know what you're fucking talking about."  
"I don't?" Freddie laughs hostilely. The sound doesn't suit his frame. It's terrifying. "It's pretty fucking evident, isn't it Cook? Because if you really loved her, why aren't you back at the field, mopping her up, giving her a pissing spit shine?"

Freddie turns away, cackling to himself, taking shape of the leader.

"Why are you doing this to me?" Cook howls, the tormented member of the pack.  
"Why are you doing this to _me?_" Freddie shoots back, glaring.  
"You said I had nothing to be sorry for."  
"No," Freddie grits his teeth. "I said I didn't need a pussy apology."  
"Freddie, stop this."  
"Stop what?"  
"Mind fucking me."  
"Then stop fucking _her_." Freddie's face softens. I feel a pang deep inside of me. "Who do you need more, Cook? Me, or Effy?"  
"Freddie, you know the answer to that."  
"Does _she_?" Freddie replies quietly. Cook makes his way towards the door. "Why don't you do the noble thing, eh? Take a step back, let the person who really wants her, have her. She loves me, Cook. She chose_ me_. And you're prepared to turn this all to shit for me, because you're confused? Because you don't know what you want?"  
"Let your fucking dog in Freds," Cook sighs, opening the door, peeling the shed's light onto my exhausted face. "She's cold out here."

**After a last flit of heated eye contact, he pushes past me, running.**

"What you wanted to hear?" Freddie probes, as I step into view. "You knew this was going to happen. In the end."  
"I just needed to feel it."  
His eyes grow warmer at my whispered words.  
Not once do we stop searching each other's faces. He's just as skilled at holding a gaze. I've met my match.  
**"Effy, how many times do you have to break my heart to realise it hurts you more?"**  
My throat dries. "I'm not strong enough."  
"You think I am?" he gapes, so close that our pained tears are drowning us in sync. He takes my hand. "Effy, I would lie on the fucking ground and die for you. You think _I'm _not scared? Terrified, even."  
"But you're used to love, Freddie. You have Cook, and JJ, and Karen, and your Dad."  
"You have Tony," he reasons. I gently push his hand away as I throw up my own.  
"And where is he now? You were right, before. Cook loves you more. Everybody loves everybody more than they love me. Despite everything, Cook and JJ – in the end, they'd both choose you. We'd all choose you," I shriek, finally pulling the plug, loosening the reigns, opening the box to reveal my ugly, pent up, spiralling self loathing - self pity - hunger for destroying something beautiful, even if that meant myself. "But you're the only person who chose me, Freddie." I start to shake.

And he turns on me. "And you're the only person who chose Cook, or so he thought."_  
HAND._  
"Cook's not naïve, Freddie. He knew how I felt before I did."_  
EGG._  
"Because he feels it too?"_  
PAN._

"Exactly," I breathe, staring at him for what feels like agonising hours. I just want to hold him, feel his tears against my cheek, feel his heart pound into my ribs, feel his fingers around my throat.  
"Second time lucky?" he quizzes, hopeful and alive. "You chose me, remember."  
"Yeah, I remember."  
"So what now?"  
"You think I have the answer?"  
"Well, you've been fucking good at mapping this all out so far. It all went according to plan, didn't it?"  
"Freddie, please," I beg, voice even smaller than I feel.  
"There are plenty of girls out there, you know?" he frowns, his tone undermining his false bravado.  
"Plenty of guys too."  
"Yeah, of course, you'd know wouldn't you?" he snorts, irritated once more.  
I blush, shamed, infuriated, frustrated.  
"You want to hurt me, and push me away? Fine," I respond coolly, raising an eyebrow. "But take it from me. _That_ plan doesn't always run accordingly."

**And after a last flit of heated eye contact, I push past him, running.**

_You're two of the same, you and that James Cook._

_Same thoughts, same values, same reactions, same feelings. _

What if I chose wrong?


	5. Chapter 5

**WOO, IT'S THE FINAL CHAPTER :)Thankyou to reviews and emails, you guys have inspired me to keep writing. This has actually been my favourite story to write, and I'll forever be torn between Freffy and Ceffy. Ignore my previous author's notes. I _did _decide to go along with the original plot I'd planned, set before the Skins Novel and Venice - but everything is down to your own interpretation as I've said before. Hope you guys enjoy, and I'll promise to not leave such a gap between updates in the future. Really pleased with this chapter, and as always, I'd love to hear your feedback :) x**

**

* * *

**  
"I can't understand how you've coped."  
I sigh shakily, forehead balancing on my knees.  
The earth seems to be spinning around me, and I'm out of orbit.  
**Out of sync. Always have been.**

"Coped?" he laughs in exasperation, voice cracking. "Effy, I haven't."  
I prop my head up and frown, eyes boring into his clouded own.  
"You've stuck by him for years," I reason. "I couldn't even stay loyal for a week."  
"I guess it just takes practice."  
**I don't even practice what I _preach_, let alone this shit.**  
Freddie and Cook's public experimentation proved that.  
_  
I can break the eggs, but I won't be broken._

"I want to know _how, _Cook," I breathe. "I want to know how to love him."  
He considers me for a moment, head cocked on one side. His gaze wanders around my bedroom, all white sheets and off white walls.  
"You've got to give him your power, Effy." A small, reassuring smile. But he knows how tough that is.  
And he knows that it's impossible.  
"I can't," I cry, frustrated. I secretly pinch myself under my left arm, wallowing in the pain, torturing myself for being so pathetic. So hypocritical and stupid.  
"Then it won't stop," he shrugs. "_This. _It will never end. We'll just be three losers screwing each other forever." He chuckles sadly to himself. "In more ways than one."  
I chew my bottom lip, tearing the skin, blood seeping through my front teeth.

"I've been this way all my life, Cook," I explain, voice dragging tiredly. **"Never letting anybody in, never letting them know how I'm feeling."**  
"Well, I guess we'd call this making progress?" he replies, reaching out and punching me lightly on the top of my arm.  
A gesture of encouragement. Almost praise for succumbing to the truth.  
"You get me, don't you," I state, and he turns to me. "Freddie understands me, but sometimes it's like you're the only person who's ever _known_ me. Properly."  
"And which one scares you most?" he asks.

I search my mind, emotions masking evidence.  
**But I know. I've always known.**  
From our first encounter, when our eyes met across the car crash ruins that resembled my torn up, beaten little circumstances.

**"Freddie terrifies me," I nod. "Everything about him. The way he makes me feel. It makes me so afraid."**  
Cook nods in canon. He reaches out tentatively, and brushes his fingers over the hand resting underneath my chin.  
He seems so tame lately, so changed.  
It's almost touching.

"If there's one good thing my old man ever told me, Effy, it was to 'always do what you're most afraid to do'."  
He swallows at the mention of his father, and I know how hard this is for him. "And you're most of afraid of falling in love."  
"I _am _in love." I can't help but become defensive.  
"Not completely, Eff." Cook shakes his head dismissively. "You've got to sacrifice yourself. You've got to give _all _of yourself to him."  
He pauses.  
**"Even the parts you won't let anybody see."**

I feel his aching heart, and I lean forward onto my knees, placing my hand onto the side of his face.  
His eyelids curl closed as I stroke his cheek, then lightly press my lips against it.

"Cook, I think you're the only friend I've ever really had." I grin. "No offence."  
"I'd rather be your friend than some cock blocking loser who screwed his best mate over to be with you," he sniggers, but the laughter doesn't quite touch upon his eyes.  
"We've both made the same mistakes," I ponder. "And if there's one good thing _my _dad ever told me, it was that 'friends forgive your mistakes, but best friends make them with you.' I think that sums us up."

He looks at me, confused.  
"Nothing will _ever_ sum us up, Effy," he fights. "Someway or another, we'll keep going. We're unstoppable."  
"But I want it to stop," I protest, the reality of my words sinking into me.  
**"Because I can't do this, Cook. I can't hurt him anymore."**

He bows his head, defeated. "Then you know what you have to do."  
"I have to choose."  
Cook nods.

**And suddenly, I don't feel so afraid.**

* * *

I rap on the shed door, chest heaving, containing the eruption taking place beneath my ribs.  
"It's open," Freddie croaks from inside. "It's always open."  
I push the door, not bothering to close it behind me.

It's funny, because with Freddie, right here in the shed - for the first time in my life, I belong.  
I feel complete. And I want him to know this, how much he's changed me.  
**But I just can't summon up the words.**

"I have to tell you something," I whisper.  
"De ja vu," he smiles, joint between his kissable lips.  
"Only, Katie's not here to interrupt this time," I reply, tone stone cold and jealous, against my will.  
"There's always _something _in the way." He draws, and exhales drowsily.  
"Not anymore."  
"I'm all yours," he says, ready to listen.  
"No, Freddie." I step towards his chair, looking down on him. "I'm all _yours."_

He sits up suddenly, hand running up my leg, from my knee to the inside of my thigh - exposed underneath my skirt.

"I finally chose," I reveal, as he stands up before me, his hand tenderly wrapped around the back of my neck, the other dropping his joint to the floor, and exploring between my parted legs.  
**"It's you I want to be with," I pant. "It's always been you."**

"Then we'll _be_ together, Effy," he whispers, kissing my wounded mouth, dried blood crusted upon the skin. "Forever."  
I kiss back, wrapping my arms around his strong shoulders.  
The heat of his body pressed against mine instantly arousing me, his hand doing it's work inside of my laced knickers, his mouth caressing the nape of my neck.

I lose myself for a moment.

**And I can't handle that.**

"But I need some space," I freeze, pressing my fingers against his travelling lips, stopping him.  
He drops his hands from my body. "Space? To think things over?"  
"No," I say softly. "To _stop _thinking. To stop _feeling_. Just for a second."

I pull the plane ticket from the pocket of my hoodie.  
Venice. Departing tomorrow.

Freddie's eyes widen objectively, as he reads the small print. "You're running away." He states incredulously. "Again? You're leaving me _again?_"  
"I'll be back this time," I assure him, honestly. I just need to be away from all of the anger and pain.

"How do I know that for sure?" he replies, through a clenched jaw. "How do I know that you won't be out god knows where, jumping up on anyone who will take it?"  
He points into my face accusingly. "How do I know that you mean anything that comes out of your betraying little mouth, Effy?"

I stare up at him, sweat beading above his scowl.

_You've got to give in, Effy._  
**I can, I can, I can.**

"Because Freddie," I whisper. "I let you break my heart."


End file.
